


Something Obscure

by esama



Category: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies)
Genre: Angst, Depression, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Oneshot, Spoilers, probably
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-05
Updated: 2016-12-05
Packaged: 2018-09-06 16:35:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,094
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8760622
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/esama/pseuds/esama
Summary: Credence breaks and breaks and breaks and thinks he will keep on breaking forever now.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Unbetaed

Credence breaks and breaks and breaks and thinks he will keep on breaking forever now. He breaks inside and out and floats away, a thing with no body and no shape, made of hurt and wind, and he breaks deep deep inside where he was a person, once, where he had a name, once.

Obscurus, someone yelled and whispered and screamed and he refuses to think of Graves now because that hurts too.

He floats away in the wind and thinks, in a windswept sob that breaks something in it's way, that he could have been magic. He could have been special.

He could have been saved.

* * *

 

The man in blue, the one with clumsy mouth and desperately kind eyes, comes back. He fiddles with his scarf and checks his briefcase and he doesn't look at all where Credence flickers at the edge of the shadows, but Credence knows. The man knows. There is something there and the man knows he's there too.

Credence curls and coils and thinks there's a gap there, he can slip past it – it's small, smaller than a mouse can fit in, but Credence is… he can go through everything now. He can go and escape and pretend he doesn't regret it. Like it doesn't hurt.

Like it does hurt.

"It's – ah," the man in blue hesitates, smoothing a hand down his scarf, nervous or maybe giddy. "It's good to know you're okay."

But Credence isn't okay, he's never going to be okay again, and surely the man knows that, doesn't he – he has to know that. Because he knew what to say, before, his eyes were so knowing, desperate and _knowing_. He has to know. Someone has to know. Credence is –

"You are safe now, that's good," the man in blue says and it's definitely giddy now, the way he smiles at the floor, like he can't quite believe it. Credence shifts, alarmed and uneasy because Graves used to – sometimes he looked like –

It hurts, deep inside where Credence thinks his heart is still, somehow, beating.

"I still want to help you," the man in blue says, too abrupt and loud to be nothing but blatantly honesty. "I'd like nothing more than to help you. It's rather what I do – I help things humans don't usually care much about. Not that they shouldn't – rather because they really should but they don't because… well, that's humans."

What does that made Credence then? A thing, a creature, an _other_? Freak, a monster, an abomination? Someone said that to him. Lot of people said that to him.

Graves called him a miracle and… other things. But he lied. He lied.

"Well," the man in blue says and looks around awkwardly. "Enough of that, I suppose. I'll just… yes," he coughs and sits down on the edge of the platform, feet hanging over the edge, trouser legs pulled up by the bent of his knees. He has yellow socks and Credence concentrates onto them.

The man takes out a book that's made of more notes slipped between it's pages than actual pages. "There was a girl, in Sudan – I told you before, yes?" the man asks as he flips through the book. "I have a picture of her here – drawn, mind you, they didn't much like cameras there. Do you mind if I tell you bit about her?"

Credence doesn't know. Hearing about someone like him, someone so much like him that they had the same fate. It sounds horrible and he knows it will be horrible because he's horrible and surely she too – and she died too. She died. And the man in blue looked like it hurt when he admitted she died.

But she was like him.  She was _like him_.

He was something now, something other, but he wasn't alone. Graves called him a miracle – but he isn't, because there are others and miracles are things that exist alone.

He shifts closer and the man in blue glances up – doesn't recoil, just looks his way. "Alright," he says and smiles awkwardly. "Alright," he says again and looks down to the book. "She was eight when I met her…"

* * *

 

Credence isn't like that, most of the time. When it hurts the most he can curl in some bit of darkness, usually deep in the metro tunnels where no one can see the shadows he casts with no light. Then, when it hurts the most, he can stay still and do nothing, because the hurt takes so much effort. It's almost soothing, to be so weak.

But he isn't like that, most of the time.

He's angry.

He's _so angry_ that it doesn't hurt. So angry that it doesn't matter that he's lost his hands and fingers and can't feel his legs, so angry that he can see Graves as clear as day right in front of his eyes and it doesn't matter. Doesn't matter that he tears away at the stone work and blows out windows and that people scream when he brushes past them in his hurry to – to something.

He wants to tear things apart, he's so mad, he wants to see things crumble to dust and scatter in wind, he's so furious he wants the whole world to feel it. He cracks the pavement and bends the lampposts and kills flowers on windowsills.

And he gets angry so easily.

A man drags a boy into the metro by his hand, scolding him the whole way, saying, "and just wait until we get home, you miserable little bastard," and Credence makes the ceiling tiles crack. A woman wears a dress just like Ma – just like Mary Lou and Credence makes the bricks quake under the clip of her shoes. A little girl hums a tune that sounds just like what Modesty used to hum and Credence shatters bit of the wall next to her.

Sometimes it takes nothing at all – nothing but a memory or stray thought. How it felt when Graves put his hand on each side of his face, warm and wide and secure and so gentle, so very gentle, looking him straight in the eyes, telling him he was special.

He hears people call it a sinkhole, what he does when he thinks that. He causes a lot of sinkholes when he's angry.

He doesn't want to, though. He did, sometimes, when he was so angry that nothing mattered, Credence wanted nothing more than to let everyone and everything know it too, but… not usually. When he was calmer, he hated it and himself and the fact that he couldn't help it.

He cultivates his hurt like it's his last lamp wick, trying to get the most light out of it, trying to keep the flame of pain alive, because when it hurts he can think and not hurt others.

The man in blue usually comes to him those times, when he's raging against the walls and crawling and clawing destruction on the ceiling and floors. He keeps his distance and tries to speak softly and sometimes it helps. Sometimes it calms Credence down enough that he can think, that he can feel the hurt again.

Not always though.

Sometimes the mere sight of him is nothing but a reminder, because Graves was there with the man once, and Credence can still see him there and he's just angry.

He thought so many things, he had so many hopes and he's so, so mad.

"Shh, Credence," the man in blue whispers, and doesn't come close. "Shh, it's aright. Shh…"

Sometimes it's a relief that Credence doesn't know how to cry, anymore.

* * *

 

The man in blue can't hear him – Credence can't manage words anymore, not after what happened. But he learns to understand, somehow. Credence doesn't know what gives his thoughts away, but the first time the man answers his unspoken question with an answer, he figures something must.

"No, no, of course not," the man says, sounding flustered. "No, Credence, they shouldn't have killed you, they shouldn't have _tried_ to kill you. No, all of that was wrong, please believe me."

That day, Credence damaged someone's car. There'd been a woman and a man inside, they'd been fighting – he'd grabbed her hand and she'd screamed, "Let go of me!" and it had made Credence angry, that the man hadn't. He'd rammed against the car and it'd jerked back a feet or two, the windows cracking and breaking, the side mirror bending out of shape.

They'd screamed so loud, the woman had been so afraid. Credence hadn't meant to frighten her – only, he'd wanted the man to stop. Instead Credence had frightened her and the man had embraced her and comforted her instead.

"You're very powerful, Credence. You're impossibly powerful," the wizard says so earnestly that Credence recoils into the ceiling. "But – but that doesn't make you dangerous. Well I suppose it does a bit, but not by any inherent, uncontrollable nature, no. As long as you can control it, power isn't threat. You're a _being_ , not a mindless natural force."

But he was, wasn't he? That was the thing – he _couldn't_ control it. Most of the time, he couldn't control himself.

"But you can – you do," the man says and he sounds proud now. "Don't you see it? You've gotten so much better. Nobody has died in –"

Credence stops at that, and so does the man very abruptly, making a face. The wizard clears his throat and quickly continues, "You've done a bit of damage here and there and sure you've frightened some people – but no one has been hurt in days. You are getting _better_."

He wasn't getting human, though. The wizard had tried to talk him through it… but he couldn't manage a body anymore. He'd tried but for all his supposed power, he couldn't contain himself in physical shape anymore. Couldn't become corporeal, like the wizard said.

The man in blue fiddled with his fingers hesitantly. "Credence, I know it's hard, and I wish I could help you, I really do. But you are an Obscurus now."

Obscurus – and not an Obscurial.

"You're getting better," the wizard says confidently.

Sometimes Credence believes him.

This is not one of those times.

* * *

 

Miss Goldstein comes with the man in blue once and calls him Newt. She calls Credence by his name too, and tells him she's happy that he's okay, that's he's safe, saying she was so worried.

"We're not going to tell anyone we know you're still here," she swears very earnestly, nodding at his flickering shadows in the corner of the ceiling. "You're safe here and no one will find out, not from me. Or from Queenie, she knows how to keep secrets."

Credence flickers and curls but comes down the wall, comes closer. Miss Goldstein smiles and holds out her hand as if to touch him – but he keeps a safe distance.

He remembers very vividly how it look like, when human skin turned dark and bloated when he touched it like this – and he can't touch anything any other way anymore.

"Well, that's alright," Miss Goldstein says and smiles like she doesn't mind. She looks at the man in blue. "So what have you been up to down here?"

The man in blue smiles and doesn't look at her face at all, looking off to the side awkwardly. "We've been going over Obcurusi and Obscurial and some other… less than corporeal beasts and beings," he says and he has the book out again. "I thought I'd talk about Patroni today."

"Patroni, why?" Miss Goldstein asks, sounding confused. "That hasn't got anything – or, can a Patronus affect Credence now?"

"I don't think so, but Patroni are a fascinating point of study, corporeal and incorporeal as they are, and I thought it might… help," the man in blue says, looking at the book.

Patroni are things that wizards and witches can conjure up, Credence learns – they are glowing, ghostly creatures made of faint light and strong emotion. Miss Goldstein conjures one up as example and it's a beautiful thing, bright and shining in the darkness.

It's not like him though.

"Mind is what shapes magic," the man in blue says. "Emotion, will, and belief. Patroni are example of emotional magic – powered by positive, happy memories, they embody those things."

"What about spells?" Miss Goldstein asks. "Or wands?" she adds, waving hers. "I couldn't do a Patronus without either one."

"Human inventions," the man in blue shrugs. "Honestly, most everything else manages magic just fine without them with just emotion, will and belief. But wands admittedly do make that easier."

Credence had once met a man on a street who hadn't believed in God. That was back when Mary Lou used to read from the Bible in the gatherings and add psalms into the leaflets. The man, he hadn't believed in any of it – he'd believed in science, and evolution. He'd scoffed an Credence and said…

"Nonsense, all of it. God didn't create man – _time_ created man. Evolution, you stupid boy. Man learned to use and make tools, man learned to harness fire and manage his own destiny. That's all there's to it all, time and evolution and man's ingenuity in facing adversity! And as for what comes to _witchcraft…_ "

Only Mary Lou had ever given Credence such a sermon, but some of that still sticks to him. He'd thought about it a lot, in late at night when no one knew he was still awake in his bed, thinking dangerous thoughts. Man made tools and learned to manage his destiny.

Even though the man on the street had been wrong about witchcraft… It makes sense that Wizards learned to make tools too.

What all of that makes him, though, he doesn't know. But he knows that he doesn't think he can manage emotions like Miss Goldstein does when she makes the Patronus, and he doesn't think he can belief in things the way the man in blue seems to, when he does magic. He doesn't think he has the will.

But Miss Goldstein smiles at him like he's doing something right and the man in blue seems to trust him – he brought Miss Goldstein to see him, after all, so he had to trust Credence at least a little. So maybe that's something.

* * *

 

The man in blue sidles up to him, his lips pressed together stiffly and his eyes flickering to the corner where Credence curls. Credence is calm now, not quite hurting as much but not angry. He doesn't know what he is now, but at least he's not angry.

He doesn't mind that the man comes so close, this time, and he knows that's probably improvement on his condition.

"Credence, I'm… leaving," the wizard say, and suddenly Credence doesn't feel as calm. "The MACUSA are done humouring me, I'm afraid – they want me and my case," he pats the said suitcase fondly, "out of New York now."

Credence shifts nervously at that, looking at him, maybe even managing to form a face in the shadow. The man looks back and then he smiles, awkwardly too big and too small all at once, and then he looks away again. He looks sad.

"So I am heading back to Britain," he says and runs a hand over the chest of his coat. "And I thought to offer… you can come with me, if you'd like. I have a habitat for you in my case, we can change it however you like – but…" he hesitates for a moment and then sighs. "I would have to contain you, for the sake of others. Do you understand?"

Credence has seen the other Obscurus, the man showed it to him – the shadowy thing inside a ball of what looked like water, flickering helplessly in it's floating prison. It wasn't like him – it wasn't a person anymore, had never really been. It was just the thing that grew inside a little girl and killed her inside out. It couldn't think or feel. It wasn't like Credence.

Credence didn't want to be like it, either.

The man in blue glances at him as Credence starts creeping up the wall. His eyes are kind and desperate, they often are when he looks at Credence. "I suppose not, then," he says and clears his throat. "In that case…"

He rummages through his pockets and Credence creeps higher, half way through the cracks in the ceiling – is he reaching for a wand, will he try to make him, is he –

No. The wizard comes away with small, brand new book, with sleek brown covers and strap of leather binding it shut. "I made some notes for you, if you'd like keep studying," the man says. "Lot of it's conjecture I'm afraid – you are quite unlike any other Obscurus in history now, after all. You are stable and I can only speculate on the future, but… As much as I know, I've written down here."

He holds the book out to the corner. "And, hope you don't mind, but I've also taken the liberty of including a forwarding address. If it comes about that you need to contact me, a letter can reach me there."

Credence hesitates a long while, and they hang there, the man and him, on the edge of action. The book tempts him but he doesn't dare – most things he touches crumble into dust like tobacco ash, and if he takes the book and it crumbles too…

The man waits for minutes and then smiles helplessly. "How about I just leave it here," he says and crouches down, setting the book down on the floor of the metro station. "You just pick it up when you feel like it. I really must be going now, though, so…"

He hesitates, fiddles with his suitcase for a moment and then finally looks up to Credence. "You'll be alright, Credence," he says with utmost confidence. "And I hope I'll see you again, one day."

Credence looks after him and wishes desperately he could say something. Sadly, you need physical parts for a voice, the man had explained it to him, lips and tongue and vocal chords and lungs to shift air through them and Credence can't make any of those anymore. Best he manages is flicker of shadow and power and maybe, if you squint, it looks like he's waving goodbye.

The man, Newt, smiles so wide it looks like hurts. "Goodbye Credence," he says. "You'll be fine."

And as he leaves Credence thinks that maybe, this time, he can believe.

**Author's Note:**

> So saw Fantastic Beasts and Where To Find them


End file.
